Of Cats
by Lix
Summary: Draco/ Harry mild slash. Draco contemplates cats and Malfoys


TITLE: Of Cats

AUTHOR: Lix

RATING: PG - 13

WARNINGS: Mild reference to slash (hardly anything serious, tragically). Kinda dark.

PAIRING: Draco/ Harry

DISCLAIMER: This portrayal of Draco is probably the most like JK's that I've ever managed, but he's still not mine.

SUMMARY: Draco contemplates cats and Malfoys. I figured Malfoy seems like a cat person, the kind who would respect a cats' dignity and grace as well as it's claws and teeth. In case you can't tell, I love cats as well. Oh, PWP... I'm just rambling on. And I admit, the real Draco/Harry bits are kinda crap, so maybe you should just concentrate on the none- italic script which comes out as a nice little essay on cat behaviour...

Oh yeah, this was inspired by and is therefore dedicated to Meow, the cat belonging to the guy in charge of the rooms where I live... who'd have thought that fat cat would ever be good for anything... ;)

Cats are incredibly special. Those who are wise could spend hours staring at cats, trying to learn their ways, for there is something about them which makes them more regal, more elegant, more intelligent, generally _more _than humans could ever hope to be. A cat is never sloppy or untidy or ignorant, they always make sure that they are at their best, that they present the front that shows to those who know that they are perfection, godlike. Probably, this is why the Egyptians worshipped them. Because cats are above us all. Mere mortals can only look to them in awe, as they move elegantly through a world that revolves solely around them. We look at them in envy, for they are all that we are not. In Ancient Egypt, when a cat died, it was a tragedy, the household of the cat would shave all their body hair and wear sacks in mourning. I am not sure if I recall my books correctly, but I think I am correct in saying that the murder of a cat was punishable by death.

They knew then, as the wise humans know now, that cats are superior. We can see it in their actions. A cat will not submit. A cat, even when living with a human, has uncompromising independence, is mysterious and remote and, in our eyes, incomprehensible, even when laid purring on own laps. Humans are drawn to cats because we envy this. Because we look at them and wish we had that self- contained elegance, the ability to possess secret lives, their wisdom and grace. A cat is all a human will never be, proud and deserving of that pride. A cat has infinite dignity and will admirably ignore any number of gross transgressions on the part of their human, such as having tails stood on and the condescending pat to the head, but is still able to turn around and bite the hand that feeds him or her, and, knowing their place, the human will allow this. You will find few people with cats who get angry when their pet bites or scratches, they know their place and it is subservient to the one who bites.

_There is a certain 'Malfoy' aspect to a cats' actions, for you will never see a Malfoy without that dignity, the elegance. When an outsider looks at a Malfoy, they know with complete certainty that there is a world of depth beneath those cold silver eyes (for the eyes are as much an inherited trait as the Weasley's ugly red hair is) that they will never, ever know. A Malfoy has a secret life, an infinite knowledge which no-one else can comprehend, though they try so very endearingly. A Malfoy is taught from youth to be distant and remote; few outsiders can deny they are mysterious, instigating a curiosity, an intense desire to understand how the mind of a Malfoy works. They are always denied. Still, the Malfoy can be compassionate and will, like a cat, overlook minor digressions until the point when we turn to bite the hand of one who has gone a step too far. Like one who turns down our advances and refuses to see our outstanding and superior merit. Now, finally, he is learning his place and that he is subservient to me._

Darwin used cats as one of the proofs of the non-existence of God, or was it merely the existence of evil. I think it was the non-existence of God because he says they were purely evil. Because cats do not only kill for food, but for pleasure. Cats know how to torture and terrify, can kill a bird without even breaking its neck by inducing fear so terrible it stops the heart in shock. I think that is another of the reasons why we relate to them. Because cats are what humans try to be, even if we hide it whilst they display it. You may protest and mutter about 'pacifism' and 'don't believe in mindless violence' 'don't play with creatures and kill them in cold blood'. And yet, watch the little children play war and laughingly shot each other down, watch the older children play those games, things like 'Counterstrike' with gory graphics and almost 3D imagery of bodies being blown apart with red guts scattering like confetti. See how films like 'Pulp Fiction' have become classic, even though only six minutes in someone is shot repeatedly till he dies, merely because he spoke. Cats may be evil, but they are just like humans in their feelings, but with the guts to act on it rather than just worship the thought from afar.

_It is not as though I am so unusual in my interest in pain and violence. He pretends he is so far above that, of course, even now, but I know that all humans are dominated by an almost unconscious love of violence. I do not think, however, that either the cats' actions or my own are evil. We both merely enjoy pushing a body to its limits, occasionally beyond it, possibly so far beyond that the body doesn't quite manage to survive. However, I am not sure how far an interest in death itself furthers our actions, rather than a simple interest in the reaction of a creature to pain, a study of how far someone can be pushed, almost a psychological study. I enjoy looking into people's heads and seeing how they respond to the pain I bring. The Weasel gets angry and responds to violence with violence. He loses the ability to think, loses himself in red hot anger that matches both his hair and his flushing red skin. Granger almost responds clinically, mechanically, she pulls herself away from the emotions and instead studies... sometime I think she enjoys studying what it is that makes me cause pain as much as I enjoy studying her reaction to it. Harry... he can be both passionate and calm. He hides his feelings and yet still they are clear to me. Few can read his eyes as I can. Few can get beneath his skin as I can. As a cat and a dog, sometimes we chase each other with fury, but as often we stand watching each other in amazement, both appreciative and disapproving of our differences._

Cats are sado- masochistic. Their hormones cause it, of course, but it is there. When a male cat mates a female, there are spikes on his penis which tear her vagina into a bloody mess. That is why cats screech so when they fuck. It is supposed to induce ovulation, to try and ensure that his sperm impregnates her. She is torn apart inside, but not half an hour after, probably even before the bleeding stops, she will be ready to take an other lover, to have her insides ripped to shreds once more. Of course, it is her hormones that encourage her to give in to this, the internal programming which demands the continuation of the species, but she will not resist. And so with humans. We get off on pain. We live for it. We will not ignore our hormones and resist the urge to cause ourselves agony.

_Pain is a part of my life, so much so that I do find the pleasure deeply hidden in it. Pain, lies, deception, they are all a part of my life, I have learnt their value. Harry, too, knows pain intimately. I do not know if it seeks him or he seeks it, but deep down I think he is the one who pleads for it to come into his life. He may complain all he likes about his desire for a normal, pain-free life. He need not behave the way he does. No-one else would risk their necks to protect the philosophers stone or to find some stupid girl in a hidden chamber or attempt to duel with a powerful Dark Wizard. He seeks the pains which haunt him. I think, like cats, like all humans, he gets off on pain. He suffers, but in half an hour he will be ready to be ripped to shreds once more, before the bleeding inside from the last time has had time to heal._

I am not implying all human beings are like cats. We have our cat- like moments, but only some are like cats. Most, of course, are like dogs. I like dogs, but I do not have the respect for them that I have for cats. Dogs have none of the pride, none of the elegance, none of the intelligence that cats have. That is why most people like dogs so much. More people are afraid of cats than are afraid of dogs, even though most dogs are so much bigger and bite so much harder. Because cats possess an air that implies they know how much greater than we they are. Unlike a dog, a cat will not beg for your time, will not serve you with humble drooling, falling over his or her feet to fetch and carry for you. You are a cats' slave, a cat is never your slave. A dog will rush to fetch your stick, a cat will look at you and ask, with eyes that somehow see into your soul, 'if you wanted the damn stick so much, why did you throw it away?'. A cat will not obey your orders. Cats know their place, and it is higher up the ranks than yours. People fear the reminder of that. So they turn to dogs instead, because a dog will always be below you even though it pretends to be your packmate. A dog will be happiest when it can beg you and obey your orders. A dog can bring out the dom in all of us, but to a cat we are always submissive.

Like this, people are split into groups. Most people will drool with pleasure when ordered to do some meaningless task. They will only enjoy life when they are laid at someone else's feet, or sleeping on the floor across the doorway to keep the drafts from disturbing their masters sleep. Mankind worships their role as the _underdog_, makes the most of life in the _doghouse_, and never thinks what it would be like to have the cats privilege of sleeping where one pleases and going where one likes. By law, a human is responsible if their dog roams wild without a collar, if their dog digs up someone else's garden the owners are in fact blamed for not keeping their pet under control. There are no such laws for cats, for it is known that no human could tie down a cat, no human has any control over whether or not their cat destroys another person's flowers or curtains or gets into their aviary and eats their canaries. We cannot control a cat, but over dogs we have control as if we were gods. Some people are uncontrollable, some let us walk all over them. Some people cannot be tied down whilst some are at their happiest locked up and so prevented from digging up people's flower beds.

_Sometimes, I think that Harry is just like a dog, chasing his tail when he has no-one to serve, the rest of the time fetching sticks for Dumbledore or being locked in Dumbledore's school so he can't dig up a flower bed and cause trouble. So, maybe when he is fetching sticks he is in fact fighting evil and doing good and saving the world, but anyone other than a blindly serving dog would see that no-one but he expects such behaviour of him, that what he expects of himself is a bit much for a young, half- trained boy to achieve. He never thinks that if Dumbledore cares so much he should go fetch the damn stick himself. And then there is I, a Malfoy, cat-like. No-one expects Dumbledore to tie down a Malfoy. I am no man's slave. People fear what I know, what I can do._

Within cats, there are of course social ranks. A hierarchy. I have known cats who were aristocrats, most usually the Siamese or Burmese, but also British shorthairs or what we call the common moggie... Maybe those ones are the nouveau riche of the cat world. However, they all know their place, and will sleep only on the softest, satin covered beds. They eat the finest tuna or salmon and turn their nose up at canned cat- food. They will purr contentedly along to Mozart and Bach, leave the room with tail twitching in disgust if someone turns on afternoon television programs or soap operas. Then there are the middle class cats. I've owned a few of them. They sleep in respectable places, like on beds, usually on your pillow which is most comfortable, occasionally on the settee or sofa. They will soak up the sun like a middle- class woman lies out in her garden in her bikini to get a tan. They will eat most things, but usually are happiest with a particular brand-name food like 'Whiskers' or 'Go-Cat'. They sit on your lap to listen to 'sounds of the sixties' or local radio, with the respectable sounds of the Beatles and Elvis. There are also working class cats. I have owned only one of these, they are the rarest of the cat classes. Whilst for humans this class is the greatest, most populous class, few cats would be seen in such a position, it is hard to maintain ones dignity then. These are the cats who eat anything, will even sample crisps if you leave them lying around. These are the cats that will lick at the salt on your fingertips. Few cats lick, because they dislike the taste of people. This is why they spend so long cleaning themselves and their kittens, to remove the taste of human from their fur. They will steal bread and butter from your tabletop and pull it to the ground to eat. They will sleep anywhere, even the compost heap or lavender patch. These are the rare cats that allow you to tickle their tummy. Sometimes I think they are cats undergoing identity crisis, they think they are dogs.

Most cats will not allow you to tickle their stomach. The position is too vulnerable, it opens them up too much to those who are below them, unworthy to witness them in repose. I was told once that when a cat lies on it's back, if you grab it's front paws and pull each away and to the side, you will rip open it's chest, pulling it's ribs apart. I have never tested this, but maybe it is why only the very special humans are allowed to touch a cats stomach, others will be scratched, have the skin of their arms ripped to shreds, even by the laziest cats. I know this is true. On my bed now sleeps one of the laziest cats I have ever known (or maybe she is not lazy, just knowledgeable of her regal position and therefore her lack of need to do anything for herself) but when someone touched her stomach with the intention of possibly hurting her, just a little, with rough strokes, before they even could begin she sat up and scratched at their arms, even hissed at them, though I have never heard her make that sound in two years of knowing her. Cats will not let the untrustworthy touch them when they are vulnerable.

Further, a cat will very rarely deign to be carried by anyone but the very honourable. It is one of the greatest sins you can commit to scoop a cat into your arms, even to touch a cat, without at least asking first and making sure you acquire the unmistakable permission. Cats enjoy being carried, as it is in accordance with their being entitled to slaves and carriages and vassals. However, it must occur when they wish for it and not before. Getting close to a cat is a great and rare honour, something that must be prized and never wasted. It must be brought about with caution and the obligatory levels of respect. This is why those who know cats usually hold out their hands to be sniffed, eyes downcast, when introduced. As one got down on ones knees, with eyes downcast, before Pharohs and Tsars and Emperors, so one should before a cat. It is only proper.

_He should have been proud to talk to me on the day in the shop, even more so when I deigned to hold my hand out to him on the train. It was permission given to touch the tender, vulnerable belly and so be honored among men. I rarely open myself up as I did that day, even more rarely now after his rejection. It is a position too vulnerable, too dangerous. I fear the sudden pain of my ribcage being torn open as my open, offered palm is instead pulled to try and tear me apart. So at first, when approaches were made by him, I would attempt to rip him to shreds. He was untrustworthy and I was exposed. Now though... I pretend to be impervious and inside I allow him to scoop me up without asking permission, without coming on bended knees with downcast eyes, because maybe he is trustworthy and just has not been taught the proper etiquette in these delicate situations. And sometimes, he does come to me with the correct respect and we manage to converse without violence; calm, and with words I demean myself to lick a little at that palm, to put up with him thought normally the mere scent is sickening. _

So can cats and dogs become friends? Live together? It has been done. There have been pictures of cats and dogs who lie down together, sleep in the same basket, though I have not seen it with my own eyes. I own both a cat and a dog, and most days they will get along, even sharing the same water dish (though both refuse to share the same food dish, the dog being too greedy and the cat too well- breed to eat from a dogs' bowl) but then every now and again the cat will throw itself at the dog, hissing in anger; even, though the cat is so much smaller, bring her clawed paws up around the dogs neck and sink the sharpness in, such that what looks like an embrace is in fact an act of violence. The dog can never work out why, stares at the cat in bemused confusion, before drooling stupidly and walking away with tail between legs, wondering what it did wrong. Probably it is just that the cat realised she had gone against all the programming in her nature by allowing herself to get close to someone who, by all she had been taught, was eternally inferior to her. That is how life is, after all.

_For now, Harry, we may lie together and share love, live and love and breathe as one, but I cannot help but feel that one day I will hurt you, without conscious intention, merely because of who I am and what I have been brought up to believe. But for now, let us lie together and share the same basket._


End file.
